


The Day We Met

by LadyPoly



Series: Many Things and Many Pairings (Random Inspirations In 15 min or less) [2]
Category: Cockles - Fandom, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Complete, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Romance, Sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 12:12:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5784883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyPoly/pseuds/LadyPoly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A rainy Saturday off brings romance at the door 10 years from the day Castiel set everything in motion for more than just Dean Winchester.  The first thing Misha sees is roses and deep mossy green eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Day We Met

**Author's Note:**

> Dearest Readers,
> 
> It would appear that not only were several of my works copied and posted as someone else’s and that a few people I trusted have also stolen ideas, images created and scenes.
> 
> Should you compare my stories to something I have not said was inspired by a prompt, or that someone has stolen, in the comments of the story please share it with the link, or the place it was and the writer's name or username. I will do what I can to contact them on my own if I need to. Please do not engage them yourselves. If I need help, I will sound the bat signal ;)
> 
> While I have dealt with the people involved the best I can, with the help of loyal reader’s and friends, I have to ask that you please keep this in mind. In the last several weeks it has become very clear to me that the majority of fanfic writers don't understand plagiarism. Stealing ideas without crediting, borrowing quotes, etc and claiming it as your own-- plagiarism. A form of fraud. You cannot take something blow for blow, change the setting and claim that either. An homage is also not done this way, and if you believe so-- it’s still a form of plagiarism.
> 
> When you cite the fandom, the characters etc, you show that you have given credit for the idea. What the writer does next if not stating a prompt and it’s source is their own. The canon ideas are given credit, the divergent is their own.
> 
> Now sometimes similarities inspired by scenes happen, but there is no reason why a comparison of the two should be clear. There is no reason for one writer’s voice to still be evident if you were inspired by their story while claiming your own idea.
> 
> I want to say this didn’t anger me, or hurt me but it did. It infuriated me and to be honest, I didn’t know if I should continue.
> 
> If I am slower to post things now, it is only due to feeling unsure. I am very sorry.
> 
> All my love,  
> LadyPoly

It's raining on the only Saturday Misha can remember having off in many years during a filming period. There is no bustle of a con, no flight to catch with fans crowding around airports. There’s no stress, no rush, and almost no noise. Closing his eyes all he hears is rain cascading down the large family room window as he stares out into the wet gray morning. He clutches a warm ceramic mug between his hands, the steam tickling his nose as he lifts to his lips. _Perfect lazy Saturday._

There’s a sharp rap on the door a moment later, startling him, Misha having been lost in thought and in the silky taste of honey when it occurred. He shuffles across the floor in bare feet, the hem of his soft faded cotton pajama pants sweeping as he walks. He blinks in surprise to see flowers. Large blue long-stemmed roses hovering at face level when the door opens. They smell wonderful. Misha tilts his head before he sees deep green eyes peer at him over the petals. _Jen?!_

“Who died? ” Misha asks, his tone playful. Jensen regards him with great intent as he eyes the raven locks styled in true rolled out of bed fashion, letting his eyes trace the collar of Misha’s white shirt and then slowly taking everything in right down to the perfect set of toes he loves so much. Smirking, he meets the most beautiful pair of blue eyes this side of the Milky Way.

“What makes you think someone died?” Misha can see his face now, a few days worth of stubble growing, already taking on the beautiful red tone Misha adores.

He narrows his eyes, “What did you and Jared break and how much is it going to cost to fix?” His tone sounds clipped and bitter. It makes the younger man laugh heartedly. He’s dressed in dark wash jeans and an almost sinful dark black leather coat that looks like they tailored just for him.

“So not amused, hmm?” Jensen smiles, “Didn’t break anything, swear on JJ’s adorable locks of flowing red hair.” He ends the sentence with a wink.

Misha swallows as his mouth goes dry. A familiar feeling pools in his gut. “You should come in,” he gestures, his worry subsiding for the moment. Misha is unsure as he once again stares into the swirling blue petals, however. _He’s never given me flowers before._

Jensen steps forward, closing the distance between them, and shuts the door, the roses now against Misha’s chest. The older man smells of Irish spring soap and a musk that he only ever associates with this man. His stomach flutters at the shine, the life in his co-star’s eyes as they crinkle when he smiles.

“Do you know what today is, Misha, or have you seriously forgotten?”

The older male’s brow furrows. _Have I forgotten something?_ He frowns and tries to eye the calendar on the far kitchen wall from his current position, but fails.

“I don't recall anything. I just got up not that long ago." He pauses, "You do realize it's barely 8 am on a Saturday, a day in which we don’t work, yes?” Misha emphasizes for effect.

“Mmhhmmm.” They’re nearly nose-to-nose and Misha resists the urge to squeak. Jensen isn’t usually like this. “I wanted to be here before you started your day without me.” His eyes fall to Misha’s lips again. “Needed you to still be here,” Jensen’s tone is low and dropped to a breathless sound that ignites flames in Misha’s blood.

“Jen?” The older man whispers, his voice smaller than he intended. Jensen smells like cinnamon mouthwash. He can almost taste it.

“Happy Anniversary, Castiel,” He says softly and before it registers inside Misha’s brain the heat of Jensen’s mouth is on his own. It breaks every part of him. Holy fuck Ackles!

Jensen realizing his kiss is accepted grabs a fist full of cotton and pulls the other man into him. The flowers fall gently at his side, bumping against his leg, his tongue slipping past Misha’s teeth and into the warm sweet tastes of peppermint and honey. Misha moans and kisses back. They break only when their lungs are aching, desperate for air. Misha looks beautiful with a deep crimson against his cheeks and a glossy look in his eye.

“Do you remember now?” Jensen whispers leaning his forehead against Misha’s as their chests expand and contract.

“Yes, but why now?” Misha can hear the emotion in his voice; the heavy weight of years of his feelings just waiting to come unhinged. His stomach flops; he curls his toes. Somehow, he balls Jensen’s coat in his fists now, grounding himself against the blood pounding in his ears.

“Because life's too short to waste a love like yours, like the one I keep denying but have had for so long. I don't want to wake up one morning and regret never knowing I didn't, at least, tell you it was true.” His words are clear, strong somehow despite the feeling in his chest as he stares into the pools of unbelievable cerulean. “My life would be very different without Castiel. Without him, I wouldn't be standing here right now. This is the day you turned Dean’s world upside down, and the day I’ll never forget because it changed mine too.”

Misha stands mouth slightly agape. He is truly speechless. There isn't even a thought in his head or a sarcastic witty comment. His only reaction is a tightening in his throat, as everything grows as misty and foggy as the windows in the rain.

Jensen thumbs away his tears, the flowers set aside on the end table. His warm embrace pulls the stunned man close. No one, but Vicky has ever held him like this. Misha makes a choked off sound into the crook of Jensen’s neck. “I love you too, Jen. I love you and I’m so sorry, I’m ruining it.”

Jensen chuckles. He buries his face into Misha’s hair, leaving kisses along his hairline. “It’s perfect. Just like you. You’re beautiful, Misha. I’ve always thought so.”

Misha makes a sobbing sound. “Fucking hell, Jen…”

The younger man laughs. Misha’s arms slip around his waist then, a few small sniffles into his shoulder as he does so. Time passes slowly than, if at all. Misha can only hear rain falling and the sound of Jensen’s heart beating. Aside from Victoria's, and the first sounds of his children crying, it is the most beautiful thing he has ever heard.

Jensen begins to hum, their bodies slowly rocking back and forth. He is careful not to step on Misha’s toes with his wet shoes. They sway endlessly to the familiar tune Misha has loved since far before a fandom of fans snagged it fills his ears. Jensen’s whiskey velvet voice is perfect and so dear to him.

“Wise men say, only fools rush in.” Jensen gently lifts Misha’s chin too look at him, “But I can't help… falling in love with you.” Misha has never seen the man’s eyes so green before. He looks more beautiful now than in any other moment as they lock eyes. Misha cups the side of his face so gently,

“Shall I stay? Would it be a sin? If I can't help falling in love with you?” Jensen smiles at the sound of Misha’s voice, such a shame he never sang more often. Misha brings their lips together. There is awkward movements as the kiss grows deeper, hands buried in one another’s hair, skin flushed as everything builds like slow smoldering embers. Jensen is finally free of his coat and shoes, their bodies pressed together.

It doesn’t compare to what either man could imagine. They fall into a tangle of limbs against the couch, panting. Their fingers trace every line and wrinkle, every scar and tuff of scruff growing in on each other’s face.

“I want to memorize every inch of you with my hands. So not only can my eyes enjoy what they’ve already memorized a thousand times, but so can my heart.” Misha’s voice is a soft whisper.

Jensen closes his eyes as Misha traces down his skin, hovering by his shirt collar. “I want more than to be just in your heart. I’ll etch you into my soul and me into yours. I love you, Misha, and I have a million or more of those moments to make up for starting right now.”

Misha kisses him, the hunger of the act compares to a dying man’s need for air. The rain steadily falls outside for the rest of the day. To Misha, it will never sound the same again as he watches it embraced in an afterglow of their drawn out love making. He has a feeling unlike anything before, his soul is singing. “Happy Anniversary, Dean.”


End file.
